


The Skin Off My Back

by flyingllamas



Series: Tales from a lifetime ago (and ones to never be) [8]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Blizzard retcons everything anyway, Canon is played loose and fast, M/M, Selkies, The AU no one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-17 01:03:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14177202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingllamas/pseuds/flyingllamas
Summary: Kael'thas never liked the sea. How could he, when all he sees in its depths were the corpses of his ancestors and the scales of those that betrayed them.A lazy seal on the beach helps to change his mind.





	The Skin Off My Back

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely beta'd by nearly everyone over at the Disaster Elves discord (Kangoo, Hunterx700, and Rivkael, thank you! <3)
> 
> Based on a prompt surrounding selkies from Hunterx700.
> 
> As always, my tumblr is llamastheflying.tumblr.com if you wanna hit me up with any questions or complaints.

Kael’thas has never liked the sea. 

 

It’s fun to splash around, and especially fun to dunk Aethas under the surface of the water when Rommath isn’t watching, but he prefers his feet firmly on land when he can help it. Still, his father likes to summer in this estate by the sea and Rommath wasn’t about to try to keep two young mages cooped up inside all season long, so he often found himself standing at the water’s edge while his minder keeps a careful eye on him.

 

He supposes there’s a few reasons for his dislike, he thinks as he wanders down the beach one day. He knows his soul burns fiery hot with the flames of the forgotten phoenix god that showed itself on the day of his birth, that fire easily, eagerly answers his call when he casts spells. Even after years of study when all other schools of magic are at his fingertips, he prefers the sear of singing, singeing fire over the cold of frost or hum of arcane. Adulthood is only a few years away now and he intends emblazon the banner of his reign with the fire that burns inside him.

 

He also knows there’s a residual fear inside himself, utterly unreasonable in its origin, but he still cannot dismiss it. It is well known that his ancestor escaped the wrath of the Great Sundering with the vestiges of the highborne and from those survivors, his people were born. The rest of the kaldorei were lost in the calamity and to this day, they mourn them. 

 

Though that is known, it does not stop the rumors, the tales from spreading. It is told, from parents to small children, that the bravery of those at the heart of the Great Sundering was rewarded by Elune and when their bodies were cast into the sea alongside the corrupted highborne, she gave them life anew in a new form. Forever would they fight the changed highborne, the naga, protecting Azeroth from their corruption. Elune abandoned the rest of her cowardly, traitorous children and to this day, no prayer in her name has been answered.

 

When Kael’thas looks at the sea, he sees the corpses of his ancestors, the slithering scales of those who damned them, waiting to drag him under so that he may join them. He sees only death and sadness and for that, he distances himself from the water that goes deeper from his waist for the childish fear of being lost to it.

 

That does not mean he doesn’t enjoy the heat of the beach, the feel of the sand beneath his feet as he meanders away from Rommath. The pendant about his neck will summon his minder if he should find any trouble (which he surely will), so the arcanist allows Kael’thas to escape his sight in favor of keeping an eye on the other mageling attempting to make ice floes in the deep water. He has a mission today and will not be dissuaded from it by warnings of danger.

 

His destination is dangerous, for many reasons; the sand of the beach disappears into slick black rocks and crashing waves. Kael’thas does not doubt his ability to cross them safely, though, for all the arrogance his youth affords him. Beyond black boulders lays another kind of beach. The sand is still warm and smooth, but it is gray and when his feet find purchase in it once more, he is not alone.

 

Not that he expected to be.

 

This was the part that Rommath warned him repeatedly about, not that he heeded much of what Rommath ever said anyway. Sleek bodies lay on the beach and several raise their heads at his approach, barking out warning. This rookery of seals is an anomaly according Rommath. Many of the species on this beach are known loners; even odder is the mix of species among those that do tend to herd together. Kael’thas has found that there are many odd things about these seals though and the mix of species is the least so.

 

He is careful not to make eye contact with the seals; he’s learned the hard way that they do not take to his intrusion lightly and it is an act of aggression to stare at them so. The majority of the rookery ignores him and the pouch about his waist though, save for what he’s determined to be the leaders, as unconventional as they are. 

 

The male is all bulk and teeth. He often perches up on a boulder at the water’s edge to mind his rookery and, despite his appearance, is unusually peaceful. His coat is a sooty black, interrupted by a myriad of gray spots dappling his fur, almost as if someone had shaken a paint brush above him. His eyes are gray as well and they seem to hold all the wisdom and tranquility that the world offers.

 

For all the peace that he holds, his mate is the opposite. She lays by him and Kael’thas only ever gazes at her from the corner of his eyes after she chased him across the rocks the week before and bit deeply into one of his calves. Her coat is a grey so light it is nearly white. Even more blanched is the crescent of fur upon her head, a waning moon resting upon her brow. She terrifies Kael’thas and the itch of the bandage still upon his leg is enough to keep him away from her.

 

These seals are not what he is here for, though. He inches around the pod, tiptoeing through the whispering grass upon the sand dunes to avoid disturbing them. He is watched through his journey; the female will not let up on her watch until he is far enough away for her satisfaction.

 

Perhaps it is foolish to do this, he thinks to himself as he continues down the beach. A solitary figure lays on the sand not too far ahead of him, just out of sight and mind of the rookery. The seal barely stirs as Kael’thas approaches, likely too drowsy to care after sunbathing belly up. The prince pauses, his doubts clouding his mind. This is just an animal, he tells himself. It will not understand his gesture of thanks, his gratitude after the seal had bit the matriarch and slammed her away from him as he scuttled to the safety of Rommath’s waiting arms. 

 

Still, he cannot help but feeling gratitude towards this seal. The seal watches as he slowly approaches and when it (he, Kael’thas thinks) does not react, the prince kneels down in the sand a short ways from where the seal lays. The seal has fur as dark as night upon his back, melting into a spotty transition of light grey upon his stomach. Dark spots form lines on his chest and Kael’thas can almost see deliberation in the swirling patterns. Most odd of all is its light, golden eyes. Kael’thas thinks he’s the most beautiful seal he’s ever seen.

 

“Thank you for saving me,” he tells the seal quietly and immediately feels ridiculous. This seal cannot understand him, so his words are wasted. Surprisingly, the seal huffs and rolls back over onto its stomach. Kael’thas waits with bated breath as the seal drags himself over and rests his head on the prince’s lap. Kael’thas raises a shaking hand to stroke the seal’s smooth head, brushing away sand from it. The seal leans into his touch.

 

“I…” he starts to say and feels his throat clench tightly as he recalls the feeling of slipping off the rocks into the choppy waves. “I’m not sure what would have happened if you hadn’t helped me. I don’t know what I did to make her so mad, but I don’t think biting me like that was necessary.”

 

The seal huffs again and bobs his head, seemingly in agreement with his sentiment, before pushing up on his front flippers. Kael’thas only has that warning before the seal lightly headbutts him and sends him sprawling onto his back. The prince’s heart stops as the seal’s mouth peels back to reveal wickedly sharp and long teeth and the only thing he can think is that Rommath won’t be able to get there in time if he clutches his pendant now.

 

The seal does not sink his teeth into Kael’thas. Instead, he gently hooks the sharp edges of his canines in the bandages on Kael’thas’ leg and  _ pulls _ . The serrated edges slice through the bandages easily and most of them unravel, save for where they stick slightly to his wound. The seal gently nudges those aside and Kael’thas’ toes curl in the sand at the pain that shoots up his leg.

 

It is an ugly wound, the worst he’s ever gotten in all of his years of mischief. The matriarch had bitten through both sides of his calf and he is lucky she did not decide to pull. The seal before him had saved him that fate when he had bitten her in return; her cry caused her to release her bite instead of tearing. The bone beneath had been shattered, but the priest with them had been able to jumpstart its mending as well as the mending of his flesh. Still, there are ugly punctures in his skin that still slightly weep blood.

 

He watches as the seal noses over where the bandages stuck to the punctures and jolts when a tongue swipes over them.

 

“Hey! Stop that!” he cries and tries to push the seal’s head away. The seal gives him a rather unimpressed look and pushes back against his hands. Kael’thas cannot push back against his sheer bulk and strength, not with being unable to brace himself against the sand with his injured leg. 

 

“It’ll be your fault if that gets infected,” he informs the seal. “You’ll have to deal with Rommath if it does.”

 

The seal looks decidedly undisturbed at the threat of Rommath’s wrath. Thankfully, the seal stops licking his wounds and settles for wiggling up alongside Kael’thas and settling in the sand beside him. His eyes droop and Kael’thas wonders if he’s settling in for another nap.

 

“I have something for you,” he tells the seal and his eyes open once more. He tells himself the seal reacted because he made a noise, not because he can understand what Kael’thas is saying. Still, the seal watches him with expectant eyes until Kael’thas starts to rummage through his pouch. The fish had been somewhat squished with his tumble backwards, but they were still serviceable.

 

The seal cocks his head and Kael’thas finds himself scrambling to explain. “They’re from our kitchens. They looked really nice so I thought you might like them. You don’t have to eat them.”

 

The seal huffs again (and really, whoever heard of a seal sighing?) but delicately takes each of the three large fish from his hands. He eats one immediately and lays out the two other on the sand beside them before rolling on his back once more and closing his eyes. Kael’thas counts the seal’s acceptance of his gift as a victory. 

 

Cautiously, he summons a tome from his bedroom at the estate that he’d been reading. He keeps an eye on the seal’s reaction, who only seems to crack an eye at the swirl of magic before falling back asleep once more. 

 

When the sun starts to set that night, the seal gently nudges him up and away from their secluded spot. Kael’thas takes the hint and makes his way around the rookery and across the rocks to Aethas and Rommath. When asked where his bandages went, he answers truthfully and tells them that a seal stole them and licked his leg. Rommath looks both disgusted and disturbed, and Aethas helpfully informs him that he’s not likely to get infected by the seal’s saliva because they don’t share the same germs.

 

The seal is not the first odd friend he has made, he thinks, and it will not be the last.

 

As the summer drags on, Kael’thas tries to find time to spend the with seal. The rookery never warms up to him but the female has at least stopped her aggressive posturing towards him any time he steps foot on their beach. No matter the circumstance, his seal (for though the seal cannot be claimed by anyone, Kael’thas thinks of him as his own companion) is separate from the rookery and Kael’thas wonders if, perhaps, this seal is actually not part of it. 

 

Many days are spent under the sun by the seal’s side reading and reading or practicing magic. Some days, he splashes through the shallows to cool off and the seal follows, bobbing in deeper water as if to keep Kael’thas near the shore. The seal does not know that he will never go too deep; his fear of the corpse-ridden depths keeps him in the shallows. The prince’s skin bronzes beneath the sun and he swears he can feel the heat of the distant star beneath it at nights, long after the sun has set.

 

It is when he practices spells, particularly those he is not supposed to be casting yet, that the seal reacts the most. On some of the more dangerous spells he finds in books stolen from Rommath, the seal refuses to let him finish the cast. He either harshly headbutts Kael’thas’ side or lightly mouths his uninjured calf, promising more hurt with the scrape of his sharp teeth, until Kael’thas moves on.

 

It is uncanny, he thinks one day as he watches the seal snooze on the warm sand, snoring lightly. He cannot help but think of the flashing scales in the depths of the ocean, cannot help but think of those Elune saved for their sacrifice upon the breaking of the world. How much was myth, he wondered? The naga were surely not; his father’s forces reported seeing them.

 

Did that mean that perhaps these seals were once elves?

 

He never gets an answer, not from the silent seal, nor from Rommath who scolds him for believing in such childish tales when he asks one night.

 

The last day of summer is dreary in comparison to the rest of the season. Their caravan back to Silvermoon proper plans on leaving that afternoon, so Kael’thas rushes out of the manse early to say goodbye to his friend. He’s not sure if he’ll ever see him again; this has been the only year the seals have set up on their beaches. 

 

The rookery barks in distress when he races around them but he ignores them. Their anxiety over his quick movements has never spurred any action before, not since the bite earlier that summer. The barking follows him down the beach to where his friend usually is; today the seal has taken up perch on one of the rocky crags jutting out from the surface of the sea. He dives into the water at once when Kael’thas approaches and is waiting for him on the sand by the time Kael’thas stops running. He sinks to his knees before the seal and reaches out to stroke the wet fur. The seal makes a sound not unlike a cat’s purr in response.

 

“I’m leaving today,” he tells the seal. “I’m really going to miss you. It’s been really neat to hang out with you this summer.”

 

The seal pulls back from his touch suddenly and Kael’thas is afraid that he’s done something to offend him. Instead the seal leans forward and rests his head on the prince’s shoulder, nuzzling his face slightly. Delighted, Kael’thas laughs and wraps his arms around the seal’s neck.

 

“Thank you,” he mumbles to the seal, his fingers sinking into layers upon layers of fur. The seal allows the touch for a while, but then backs up and pushes himself back into the water, leaving Kael’thas alone and confused on the beach. It’s not long before the seal explodes through the surface once more, spraying Kael’thas with water. He has something in his mouth and the seal pushes it into Kael’thas’ stomach. When his hands come up to grasp it, the seal lets go and backs off.

 

In his hands is a crescent moon carved from wood, so similar to the one on the matriarch’s brow. It has been bleached by sea salt, but the flow of the tides have not worn away the intricate decorations, pearls set alongside opals, set within it. The ornate pendant hung from a length of fraying twine, like that found on ships. 

 

The seal looks at him expectantly and Kael’thas slips the necklace on. The pendant clinks as it lightly hits the one made by Rommath that he’s worn all summer. 

 

“Thank you,” he says again and something in his chest hurts for this seal. He knows,  _ knows _ that this isn’t a normal seal, that this is likely an elf, but he knows not how to help him breaking this blessing, this curse.

 

Not a moment after he puts the pendant on, the gray skies overhead break open and rain pours down with a vengeance. With a last nuzzle against his leg, the seal nudges Kael’thas away, towards the other end of the beach. Kael’thas spares one last look at the seal and sees him diving into the black ocean.

 

The sand is slippery beneath his feet as Kael’thas runs back across the beach and around the pod. He does not stop to consider the rain’s effects on the rocks, as treacherous as they already are, nor does he stop to ponder the absence of the matriarch from her rock. 

 

The first three rocks he hops on are fine. It is when his right foot falters on the fourth, slipping from a combination of his still-weak leg and from the wet algae growing on the surface, that he realizes he has made a mistake. His hand reaches and grabs the wrong pendant about his neck and instead of summoning Rommath to save him, his head crashes against the rock behind him. Before he is lost the darkness of unconsciousness, he sees a pale figure, so unseal-like, in the waters before him.

  
  
  


It is cold and dark when his eyes flutter open next. His entire body feels as though it has been trampled by the full force of the Far Strider’s stables and Kael’thas can only lay and stare up. The moon is above him in the night sky, stars twinkling softly next to her, instead of the blackness from the ocean depths as he expects. There are two sets of voices talking in a language that he can  _ almost _ understand but when he finally lifts his head, there is only a tall figure swaddled in furs with a seal as white as the moon above them at his side.

 

The matriarch, he realizes half a second after she disappears into the black depths of the ocean once more. Kael’thas flinches when the strange figure approaches him, unable to do more than try to push himself away. It is an elf, he supposes, but he has never seen one such as him. His skin is the color of the sky at dusk and his hair a familiar shade of black but for the murkiness of Kael’thas’ mind, he cannot place it. He wants to cry out when he sees the elf’s empty eye sockets, filled with sinister green fires, but no voice comes at his urging. 

 

“Peace,” says the elf in a low gravelly voice. “I will not hurt you. You hit your head very hard on a rock. Luckily, my friend was able to aid you. You will be able to go back to your family soon.”

 

Kael’thas says nothing in return and instead watches the strange elf with wary eyes. A shiver wracks through his body and he lets out a silent cry as his sore muscles protest from the sudden movement. He realizes that his clothes are soaked still from sea water. The elf pulls the fur pelt from his shoulders and kneels to wrap it around Kael’thas. 

 

The prince runs a shaking hand over the smooth pelt. It is almost all jet black, though the edges are speckled until fading into white…

 

He violently casts it aside when he recognizes it as the pelt of his seal friend, a cry successfully escaping his throat at last at the horror of it all. The elf before him only chuckles and wraps him with the fur once more as Kael’thas shakes in equal parts terror and cold.

 

“I suppose I should have explained,” said the elf as he holds the fur closed over Kael’thas, preventing him from casting it off once more. “Did you not think it was odd that a seal allowed you so close, that it was so intelligent? We have met before, little prince, though not in this form.”

 

Kael’thas looks up with wide eyes and sees that the flames in the elf’s eye sockets are trained on him. 

 

“It’s true then,” he finally croaks out. The elf smiles grimly and nods, knowing what Kael’thas speaks of.

 

“It is,” he says.

 

Kael’thas says nothing more, but the other elf settles beside him under the moonlight. He occasionally readjusts the fur over Kael’thas’ shoulders but offers nothing more than his company, no name, no further explanation. It is not long before Kael’thas sees lights down the beach and hears cries of his name. 

 

Before the lanterns can illuminate the strange elf, he stood up swiftly. Kael’thas sees his gaze fall to the pelt and he reluctantly takes it off, shivering when he hands the warm pelt to the elf before him.

 

“May we meet again in better circumstances, Prince Sunstrider,” he says and wraps the pelt about himself. Suddenly the seal is before him on the sands. It huffs at him and slips into the water as Rommath runs up to him.

 

“Are you hurt?” Rommath asks. “Did you get bitten again?”

 

Kael’thas shakes his head and winces. He is still sore.

 

“No,” he croaks. “I think I hit my head. I’m okay.”

 

Rommath gathers the prince up in his arms despite the lankiness of his near adult form and calls back to the search party. Kael’thas looks back to the ocean and sees golden eyes watching him from the water.

 

* * *

  
  


The years quickly fly by and Kael’thas grows up too quickly. 

 

He forgets many things, like the seals in the sea and the strange elf on the beach. He tucks away the necklace in a box under his bed at the summer estate before leaving and that, too, is forgotten as he grows up. 

 

He learns many things, that his ancestors’ contingent were not the only survivors, that his ancestor was a traitor among those who managed to escape the Sundering. It does not bother him. He, too, would do anything to help his people, even risk damnation.

 

He is barely an adult by his people’s standards when death itself sweeps through his kingdom on icy, skeletal feet, calling him back from his studies in Dalaran. Nearly all of his people are slain in a week and he is left with the wreckage of the glorious kingdom he was promised. He emblazons his banners with the phoenix god and resolves that like it, they will rise from the ashes. 

 

First, though, they must beat back the Scourge. He leaves his most trusted (of those alive, at least) companions to rebuild Silvermoon in his stead and embarks across the kingdom to rejoin an old alliance. 

 

They stop at his father’s summer estate one night to rest and it is blessedly free of Scourge. After bathing and eating from their meager rations, Kael’thas recuses himself to the beach from his childhood to think. It is the first chance at solitude he’s had in weeks and it is almost too much.

 

Kael’thas settles himself upon the still warm sand of the beach and stares out over the black ocean. The moon hangs low in the sky and it is only by her light he is able to see the beach as well as he does. Other than the rush of waves, it is silent: the barking of seals is an echo of times long gone and Kael’thas chides himself for looking for them. The rookery never returned to these shores after that fateful summer of his childhood. 

 

He wants to cry, for himself, for his father, for his people. He does not. He settles for curling into a ball and resting his head on his knees, desperate for his world to only be the tranquility he finds there. The world will not let him be, it seems. Something wet touches his fingers and he flinches, thinking of cold entrails spilling from the bodies of ghouls. 

 

Instead of a ghoul before him, he finds a seal with golden eyes. He sucks in a breath and waits for the hallucination to leave him but it does not. The seal pushes past the barrier of his knees and rests his head on his shoulder, much like he did so many years before. His robes are getting wet but Kael’thas cannot bring himself to mind, not with a vision from his childhood in front of him. A sob escapes him and suddenly, he is crying into the seal’s neck.

 

The seal-elf lets him cry out his sorrow and his tears roll off already dampened fur. Kael’thas finds himself telling the seal all that has happened and that he is afraid will happen in the face of the dead rising once more. His people are doomed, with a shattered homeland, a corrupted font of power, and a useless prince-king-mage- _ Kael’thas _ at their head. Even after his sobs dissolve into a melancholy calm from numbness, the seal lets him cling to his neck and stroke his fur.

 

He lets himself close his eyes, only briefly, and when he opens them next, the seal is gone. The grey in the sky above the horizon suggests that is nearing morning. Despite the seal’s absence and the coolness of the dawn, Kael’thas finds that he is warm. The seal-elf has left his pelt about his shoulders once more, though Kael’thas can see no trace of the elf now beyond footprints in the sand. 

 

Kael’thas burrows his fingers into the lush fur and watches the sun slowly begin to rise. Crying from the previous night has left his mind surprisingly clear and he finds that he is able to sort through his thoughts with a clarity he had lacked for weeks before. By the time Rommath finds him at the beach,  he has steeled his resolve to fight back the horrors that slaughtered his people and to restore them to their glory once more, no matter the cost. He would be the king his father knew he could be, he thought as Rommath’s hand found his shoulder. Perhaps not the king of Quel’thalas, for his father would be the last, but a different kind of king, blazing with vengeance.

 

“It seems this beach continues to inspire disappearing acts from you,” Rommath says dryly. “Were you looking to join your mysterious kaldorei in the sea and leave me with your problems, my prince?”

 

Kael’thas grins and accepts Rommath’s proffered hand, allowing the older mage to pull him to his feet. He is careful to keep a grip on the pelt, not wishing to dirty it with sand.

 

“Not yet,” he says. “There is more this world needs from me before I may yet join the sea.”

 

Two things happen before they leave to join the Alliance’s forces in the forests of Lordaeron. 

 

The first leaves Rommath rather puzzled, as he watches his prince wade into the sea with the odd pelt, once around his shoulders but now folded in his hands. Kael’thas leaves the pelt safely upon the rock that his seal-elf usually perched on and hopes that his friend would return to find it soon. He says nothing to acquiesce Rommath’s curiosity and merely returns to the estate.

 

The second finds Kael’thas on his hands and knees in the dust of his childhood room, feeling around beneath the floorboards under his old bed for a treasure long lost. He finds the small chest he left so many years before and is pleased to see it still in good condition. There, in a nest of dusty seashells and driftwood, lays the necklace given to him by the seal-elf. He wears it leaving the lands of his people, a reminder to himself that even in desperate times when no hope remains, not all is lost.

 

* * *

  
  


Kael’thas loses much in the time following and does not nearly gain enough back to justify their foray to himself. He loses respect for his people’s old allies, for the treacherous humans and their heartless machinations. He loses many of his people still to the hordes left behind by another wayward prince and starts to lose himself as his body years for the energies of the lost Sunwell. He fears that though he does not lose hope, he will lose his mind to the awful addiction itching in his bones before he is able to save his people.

 

He loses allies nearly as fast as he gains them. He tries to bite back the smile when his small caravan encounters their forebears away from Garithos’ cruelty, tries not to laugh at the look on Rommath’s face. Nothing is said about the kaldorei’s sudden reappearance in the world other than thanks but the thought is there, with those about them casting wondering glances at the sea when next they pass by. The kaldorei unashamedly wear their pelts about their shoulders as mantles and eye the moon around his neck with unease.

 

Part of him wonders at the kaldorei women before him, thinking back to the white seal at the beach. Both wear white mantles and indeed, the matriarch was not the only white seal of the beach’s rookery. He leans towards Maiev being the matriarch at first, her natural aggression a match for the matriarch’s own. He knows he is wrong, though, after seeing Tyrande call down the powers of her moon mother upon the bridge and knows that by her sacrifice and the moon’s blessing that it must have been her guarding that pod all those years.

 

Even if he had doubt beyond that, meeting Malfurion in the time after further cements his thoughts. There is no better match for the matriarch’s mate than the elf before him, odd and wild though he may be. If he is odd, though, then Kael’thas does not have words to describe the druid’s brother. The most mild thing about the tall elf before him is the blindfold across his eyes and the most extreme are his horns and wings. He feels small under the blind gaze of Illidan who, like the elves before him, seemed fixated on the necklace about his neck. He does not have much time to ponder the brothers before they leave in search of Tyrande.

 

Had he time before Garithos beleaguered his people once more, Kael’thas might have pondered more the blindfold that Illidan wore, might have thought back to the empty eye sockets and the hellfire resting within them that belonged to his seal-elf. But as it was, the yearning addiction in his body had turned to outright hunger and he was not the only one. Around him, his people suffered and it drove Kael’thas mad with worry.

 

His salvation comes in the form of another fairytale, though he knows their existence to be real from years of experience. Vashj and her naga treat his people with a three-fold kindness they hardly deserve on the basis of shared ancestry, first in rescuing them from Lordamere, second in helping them hold their lines, and then from the dungeons of Dalaran. In turn, he can only help them rescue their lord from the Wardens once more. 

 

To see Illidan in a cage is a truly awful sight; the elf exudes power and strength and it nearly hurts to see him unconscious and on his side, trapped by a complex magic lock. His pelt that he wears about his winged shoulders is nowhere to be seen. Perhaps the sight spurs Kael’thas on in the brief but bloody battle that ensues with the Wardens or perhaps some part of him recognizes the elf within the cage. Either way, an afterthought has Kael’thas digging through the bags of the slain or unconscious wardens until he finds a familiar dark pelt in Maiev’s own bag. Vashj gives him a strange look when he rejoins their small retinue, but says nothing when he lays the pelt over Illidan’s body once more after the magic lock is cracked.

 

He and Illidan do not have much of a chance to speak after the elf awakes, beyond Kael’thas swearing his fealty in return for aid, until their forces find themselves in the cold lands of Northrend. Even in the face of the desolace and despair of the Hellfire Peninsula, Kael’thas is sure that there is no place closer to a hell on earth than the wastes of the northern continent. More than ever, he fiercely misses the ever-spring sanctuary of the woods in his homeland, misses their warmth and their safety. The shrieking winds of the north pick up small bits of ice that scrape his cheeks raw and even now, as he huddles near a fire with his heaviest robes and a blanket, he can’t seem to warm himself.

 

He startles violently when a weight drops on his shoulders and nearly pitches forward into the fire.

 

“Careful, my prince,” croons a dark voice. “If my pelt had been a giest, I doubt that you would still draw breath. The cold may dull your senses, but stay vigilant.”

 

Illidan settles his bulk on the rickety bench beside him and Kael’thas is surprised it holds his weight. One of Illidan’s wings curves up over the prince’s head, blessedly blocking the wind.

 

“Thank you, master,” Kael’thas says. He pulls the pelt tightly about himself and starts to feel some warmth return to his limbs. Out of habit, he tangles his fingers about the gleaming moon pendant. 

 

He knows, now, that Illidan was the seal-elf from all those years past, knows that he owes his life to this elf so many times over he could not possibly hope to repay him. Even if he had been initially ignorant to the reason behind Illidan’s blindfold, the familiar feel of the silky pelt beneath his fingers dispels any doubts that might remain. Illidan has said nothing of their past, though, so neither does Kael’thas. 

 

When he looks at Illidan, some part of him wants in a way that terrifies him. He loved Jaina, loved her so much his heart felt like hot coals that were suddenly doused in water when she rejected him. Illidan is no Jaina. He is sharp in the way that Felo’melorn was, dangerous and lethal and powerful. He is brilliant, though, and Kael’thas constantly finds himself in awe of the ancient being before him. It is not love, not yet, and he does not know if it ever will be. He decides to take a chance, though, to know this elf better, to see past the sharp edges Illidan presents to the world.

 

“Master, may I ask a question?” he asks, unsure of the boundaries between them.

 

“Have you not already, thero’shan?” Illidan teases back and if the tips of Kael’thas’ ears were not already red from the cold, they are now. “Yes, you may.”

 

“I understand that you are called the Betrayer,” Kael’thas says cautiously, “and that Maiev sought to imprison you because of that, but why did she not do so before?”

 

Illidan sighs and Kael’thas fears that he has overstepped some invisible line. 

 

“It is a good question,” Illidan admits, “and not one I fully know the answer to. There was a prison prepared for me, ten thousand years ago, at the height of my so-called betrayal. But when we were all cast into the sea by Elune’s grace it was believed by my people that if Elune granted me mercy, then surely she judged my actions as just. It did not stop them from alienating me, but I was at least not imprisoned for my sacrifices.

 

“Now that our fates are changing once more, I believe Maiev stills seeks to punish me for my betrayal and prevent any further actions that would damn our people. I am sorry if that does not completely answer your question, my prince.”

 

“No, it does, master,” Kael’thas says quickly. They fall into silence once more and Kael’thas expects Illidan to leave him.

 

Illidan makes no move to leave and remains by his side as Kael’thas warms himself, nearly dozing off from the heat of the fire, the pelt, and the elf beside him. He is nearly to the tipping point of consciousness when Illidan finally speaks again.

 

“I suspect that the memory of much of my people’s culture was washed away with us in the tides when we were lost to the sea,” he says. “Perhaps it does not matter what we were before, with the sea changing us so.”

 

Kael’thas’ curiosity piques and he tries to rouse himself from his sleepy state.

 

“Master, is there something particular that troubles you?” he asks cautiously. Illidan hums, before continuing.

 

“The giving of gifts was a large part of courtship, before the lands were sundered so,” he says, his tone ponderous. “It was the belief that one or both partners would prove their ability to care for the other, even going so far as to lay their lives on the line in proving so. Giving the skin off of their backs, so to speak.”

 

Kael’thas suddenly feels the weight of the pelt about him and his fingers tighten about the pendant and in the fur.

 

“What changed?” he asked.

 

“With our lives shattered, there was not much we could give to prove ourselves,” Illidan says. “That which we could give, was either stolen from us or never returned. Too many times did an elf give their pelt to one on land, or it was taken from them by a covetous mortal, and they were forever separated from the ocean and their people. Literal torture for those blessed by the moon and one of her lovers, many would tell you.”

 

Illidan’s unseeing gaze falls on him but Kael’thas cannot not bring himself to look up and return it.

 

“To have it returned once, even by someone so young, was unthinkable,” says Illidan. “You were so cold and pale, I feared you would perish before your people could find you once more and so I gave my pelt to you. It did not occur to me that you would return it so readily. 

 

“Perhaps that was not born of courtship, because you were so young, but certainly you had made a space for yourself in my heart when few others could with your kindness to a lone seal upon the beach. I gave you that pendant before you left so that you might find aid from any ally of the kaldorei you encountered in your life, for reprieve you gave me from my own loneliness.

 

“You returned it twice, after the fall of your kingdom,” Illidan continues. “You had grown up into a strong, beautiful prince whose heart bled for his people. You blazed like the sun on the beach that night in your sorrow and called me back to your side. 

 

“When you returned my pelt to me once more, I fear that the space you found in my heart before eclipsed all others. It is no coincidence that Vashj found you and aided you when she did, my prince. I would not lose you again so soon after meeting you once more.”

 

Kael’thas finally looks up and finally met the intense orbs of hellfire trained on him. He has let the pelt fall slightly from his shoulders, but his fingers still tightly clutch at the edges of it to keep it from the snow.

 

“And,” Kael’thas says, “what would it mean if I were to return it to you a third time?”

 

Illidan smiles widely then and Kael’thas can see his fangs glittering by the light of the fire. His large, clawed hand lifts and cups Kael’thas’ face gently.

 

“I think,” Illidan says, “some would consider that a marriage proposal.”

 

Kael’thas hesitantly pulls back from the touch of Illidan’s hand and sees the disappointment that flashes across Illidan’s face. He quickly stands up and gathers the pelt in his hands before approaching Illidan. The lord of the Outland is still as a statue as Kael’thas carefully drapes the pelt about his shoulders once more. 

 

Kael’thas knows his face is as red as his robes, that he must look the flustered mess that he is inside. He wills himself not to tremble as Illidan meets his gaze and studies him. Kael’thas nearly shrieks when Illidan moves faster than his eyes can track to cup his face once more and drag him close.

 

“Do you know what you ask, my little prince?” Illidan says finally. His voice is low and rough and it makes something inside Kael’thas shiver with  _ want _ .

 

“I think,” gasps Kael’thas as large thumbs trace his cheekbones gently, “you outlined that quite clearly.”

 

Kael’thas can say nothing more before Illidan kisses him roughly. One large hand slides to cup the back of his head and the other rests on the small of his back, guiding Kael’thas in between Illidan’s spread legs. Warmth deliciously sinks into his skin as Illidan bites his lip and licks into his mouth and Kael’thas can only make a happy noise. When at last they part, Kael’thas is breathing heavily and the fire of Illidan’s eyes burn with such intensity that his face is aglow with them.

 

“You are the sun to my moon,” says Illidan and rests his forehead lightly against Kael’thas’ own, “the fire to my sea. For how different we are, my prince, I cannot part myself from you. Even if I wished that,  it seems fate will not allow it.”

 

“Then don’t leave,” says Kael’thas. “And if you do, I will be by your side.”

 

Illidan tugs him close for a kiss once more and the lovers disappear behind the warm cradle of Illidan’s wings, shielded from the cold of the Northrend night.


End file.
